David came to pick me up that morning exactly as we had agreed. We were going for an evangelism and outreach program in a small village around Bawjiase in the Central Region. I was excited, not just because it was church work, but because I always found joy in outreach programs. There was something grounding about leaving the city, sharing the Word, and serving people who welcomed you with open hearts.

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What David didn’t tell me was that we were not going alone. He came with another friend from church, Jimmy.  That was how Jimmy and I met. He barely spoke on the journey. He greeted politely, smiled once or twice, and then stayed quiet for most of the trip. At the time, I didn’t know he was nursing a broken heart. All I knew was that there was something calm and heavy about him, the kind of silence that made you curious.

The outreach program went well. On our way back to Accra, Jimmy was still quiet, withdrawn, almost distant. Yet, for reasons I still cannot fully explain, something about him stayed with me. It was love at first sight for me, though I never admitted it aloud. I admired his calmness, his restraint, and the way he carried himself. That Palm Sunday has never left my memory. Sometimes I wonder whether it was a blessing or the beginning of my doom.

Not long after that Palm Sunday came Mother’s Day. That morning, my phone rang. It was Jimmy.

“I’m calling to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day,” he said gently.
“I took your number from David.”

That simple call marked the beginning of our journey.

We started talking regularly. Conversations flowed easily, and soon he made it clear that he wanted more than friendship. As much as I liked him, there was a major concern I could not ignore. His life did not align with what I desired. I noticed he wasn’t working, though he initially denied it. Later, he admitted the truth. Through a friend, we helped him secure a job.

Even then, I was hesitant. I told him clearly that we couldn’t date. He kept pushing, patiently but persistently. Eventually, he asked that we visit his family. We did, and I was deeply disappointed. Their house was not fully completed, and their general situation unsettled me. At the time, I had completed my degree and was doing my national service. Jimmy had not completed a degree yet. I felt we were at very different stages in life.

I told him I was sorry and that I didn’t want a relationship. But Jimmy did not give up. He involved David, who spoke to me on his behalf. I opened up to David about my reasons, my fears, and my hesitation. After much pressure, prayer, and inner conflict, I accepted Jimmy.

From that moment, things moved very fast. He began making plans for marriage almost immediately. What I did not know then was that Jimmy had just come out of a painful relationship. He had been preparing to marry a woman called Adjoa, not knowing she was also dating another man. Eventually, she married that man in the same church. Jimmy was shattered. I later realized that Jimmy and his family saw our marriage as an opportunity to prove that he, too, had moved on. They wanted to “show off” that Jimmy had found love again. Unfortunately, I only understood this much later.

We began marriage counseling. Everything went smoothly until the very last day. On that final day, the counselor brought out forms for us to fill and submit to the church as confirmation that we were ready for marriage. As part of the process, the counselor asked a simple question: “Are you both ready for marriage?” That was when Jimmy said he was not ready.

The room went silent. The counselor was shocked. Her husband was shocked. I was frozen. When asked why he would say such a thing barely two weeks to the wedding, Jimmy said, “When I marry her, I will worry her.”

That was all he said. Why would he worry me? What did he mean by that? He never explained. I broke down in tears and left. I went home and locked myself inside. He followed, but I refused to open the door. The next morning, I traveled to my family house and told them everything. It was devastating. Invitations were out. Payments had been made to vendors. The wedding was only two weeks away. As we were coming to terms with the reality of canceling everything, Jimmy appeared at my family house, crying. He said he didn’t know what came over him and begged that we go ahead with the wedding.

After discussions with his parents, we reluctantly agreed. The counselor strongly advised against it. She warned me not to go ahead with the marriage. She refused to attend the wedding. However, she continued to offer post-marital counseling and follow-ups. Two weeks after the wedding, my troubles began.

Jimmy gave me his phone to use because mine was faulty. While using it, I saw a message he had sent to another woman shortly before our wedding. He told her he had undergone throat surgery and wouldn’t be able to talk for some time, so they should chat instead.

I confronted him. He said nothing. No apology. No explanation. That silence marked the beginning of fourteen painful years. Womanizing. Lies. Absence. Emotional neglect. He stayed away from me and the children. I endured things I cannot fully describe without turning this story into a book. I kept quiet. I endured. I prayed. I hoped.

I often remembered his words during counseling. “I will worry you.” How did those words come to him so easily? How did he know? Looking back, I wish I had stood my ground. I wish I had listened to the counselor. I wish I had walked away when God clearly showed me the warning sign. Instead, I stayed.

In the end, he told stories about me. Lies that painted me as the villain in the eyes of his family and friends. The woman who sacrificed, endured, and loved deeply became the “bad one.”

Jimmy, you know how much I loved you. You know what I sacrificed. The best years of my life were spent trying to hold a broken marriage together. This separation feels like death. I have had to start life all over again.

What Will Make You Leave Me After Forty Years Of Marriage?

I feel the deepest pain for our children. The past three years have been especially hard for them. I am struggling to care for them alone. Since we separated, your life has taken a different turn—sickness, unemployment, instability. I take no joy in that. I never wronged you. I only wanted the best for us. You chose lies. You chose ego. You chose to “worry” me, just as you said. All I ask now is this: tell the truth.

—Alice

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